


Targets And Taking

by Salmon_Pink



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Bullying, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's left his bruises on Parker, but Parker's left a mark somewhere under Flash's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Targets And Taking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Porn Battle XV](http://battle.oxoniensis.org/index.html), prompt "Flash Thompson/Peter Parker - bruise, hurt, nuzzle, stupid".

Technically, Gwen Stacy is supposed to be his tutor. But she’s got some big project to do, something to do with her internship and earning extra credit. Flash doesn’t know, he doesn’t really care.

Sure, if it was Gwen who’d told him, he might have listened, because he actually thinks she’s pretty cool. 

Instead it was Ms. Parlors, who always goes easy on Flash in class and sometimes winks at him when she hands back his tests. She’s a big basketball fan, of course, and she’s happy to let Flash coast as long as the team keeps winning.

But tomorrow’s test is a big one, apparently. And since Flash’s usual tutor is occupied, Ms. Parlors took it upon herself to push Peter Parker at him, with another wink for Flash and a stern look at Parker like it’ll be his fault if Flash doesn’t pass.

So they’re in Parker’s bedroom and they should probably be studying, but fuck that. 

Parker’s staring up at him, hedgy and skittish. Like he’s waiting for Flash to hit him, which isn’t an unfair assumption considering he’s still wearing bruises from last Wednesday. Flash can’t even remember why he punched Parker that day. Maybe Parker looked at him wrong, except that’s pretty unlikely since Parker mainly looks at the floor when Flash is around.

Flash runs the backs of his knuckles over the bruise above Parker’s left eye. Just feeling the texture of it, a little shinier and softer than the skin around it. 

There’s a tic at Parker’s jaw, probably where he’s trying not to flinch.

He’s staring up at the ceiling, managing not to look at Flash, even though Flash is kneeling over him and taking up most of his line of sight. Parker’s been well-trained to keep his head down, and Flash wonders how much of that training was from himself.

He’s not proud. He’s not sorry. It just is, and he doesn’t know when Parker became his own personal punching bag, can’t even remember now. Parker’s just so _apart_ , not even like he tries to be but he’s an outsider through and through. Sometimes it feels like Parker isn’t even a real person, and sometimes it feels like the anger inside Flash is so huge it’s going to tear him to pieces from within, and when those two feelings collide, it’s Parker who ends up paying, Flash’s knuckles swollen and sore from the fallout.

But right now he doesn’t want to hurt Parker. They’re in his bedroom and there’s shit pinned all over the wall, science shit but also real stuff, family stuff. It _smells_ like Parker in here, not in a gross way but in a warm way, like skin and Parker’s hoodies that he tries to hide in and something metallic. 

This is the most like a person Parker’s ever seemed to him, blinking up at Flash warily, waiting for the punch that isn’t going to come.

Flash isn’t sure why that makes his chest hurt, doesn’t want to know.

“We gonna study?” Parker asks, and he’s trying for indifference, casual, but his voice is too tight, too suspicious. There’s this light tremor going through him, like he’s coiled up so tight that his body can’t contain the tension.

“Nah, we’re not gonna study,” Flash informs him roughly, and Parker’s eyes narrow and then he’s _moving_. He’s trying to scramble up, trying to push Flash off him, and Flash doesn’t remember him being this fast.

But it’s easy enough to shove Parker back down against the bed, using his height and weight and the advantage of his position. Knees digging into the mattress either side of Parker’s thighs, pinning Parker’s wrists down against the sheets.

Parker’s eyes are cagey, gaze darting all over the room, going back again and again to his door, but they both know they’re the only ones home.

“Get off me, Flash,” Parker mutters, still trying to pretend like he isn’t panicking. Trying to keep himself in check or maybe not give Flash the satisfaction, and Flash isn’t even thinking about what he’s doing any more when he leans down and kisses him.

Parker freezes under him, only reaction a gasp so small and quiet Flash wouldn’t be able to hear it if they weren’t so close. 

He doesn’t pull back far, only an inch of space between them. Parker’s breath tastes like Pepsi and his eyes are fucking _huge_. Flash stares down at him, and he doesn’t know what his own expression looks like but Parker twitches like he’s trying to burrow backwards into the bed.

And Flash feels empty. There’s no anger today, and there’s no reason to hurt Parker, but his hands are itching all the same. There’s this void inside him, and some days he can fill it with beer or pot or girls or violence, but right now he doesn’t want any of that.

He wants to understand what it’s like for Parker, always on the sidelines, never fitting in, and he never wants to understand it at all, and his lips are tingling.

“Your lips are chapped,” he tells Parker, who looks so damn confused that Flash would laugh if anything about this was funny. He’s opening his mouth to talk, but Flash doesn’t give him the chance. Just leans down again, mouth slotting over Parker’s own, and the angle is easy and perfect and Parker isn’t moving at _all_.

“Kiss me back,” he slurs against Parker’s lips.

It’s almost a full minute of sliding his mouth over Parker’s without any response, and when it happens the movement is small and hesitant, but Parker _does_ kiss him back. It’s not shy or anything, just learning what Flash is doing, and he wonders if Parker’s ever even done this before, who else might think to kiss this weird kid that doesn’t have a place in the world.

But Parker just takes it, warming slowly, responding to Flash’s nudges, parting his lips slightly when Flash’s tongue licks between them. Shivers lightly for the way Flash’s tongue pushes _inside_ , movement that Flash can feel where he’s still gripping Parker’s wrists. He rubs over Parker’s pulse points with his thumbs and explores the inside of Parker’s mouth, listening to Parker’s breathing grow a little more ragged with every passing minute.

Parker’s lips are flushed and a little swollen when Flash pulls back, and Parker looks dazed but also still kind of confused, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Are you a virgin?” Flash asks.

Parker stops breathing beneath him.

“Has anyone ever jerked you off?” Flash presses. “Do you want me to get you off?” Doesn’t even know why he’s asking, because this is stupid and reckless, but that’s pretty much Flash’s entire high school career to date, and right now he wants Parker _bad_. “You can say no, you know.”

“No,” Parker whispers.

Flash’s fingers tighten reflexively around Parker’s wrists, but he forces himself to let go, to sit back on his heels. 

“No,” Parker says again, pushing up on his elbows. He’s flushed and his eyes are bright, mouth twisted like he’s resigned to embarrassing himself. “I mean, no, nobody’s ever jerked me off before.”

“Oh,” is all Flash can manage. He wanted this, but it feels impossible that it should be this happening this fast. He’s never thought about the idea of Parker being lonely, and he doesn’t want to think that’s what this is. “You want I should…” He trails off, raising his chin like he’s in control, like he isn’t half-stumbling through this. Being with girls has always been easy, and it feels like this should be easier than even that, but it’s not. It’s messing him up inside, making his chest feel tight and weird, like there’s a vacuum where his heart should be.

Maybe it’s not being with guys that’s difficult, maybe it’s just being with _Parker_.

But then Parker’s settling back, lying down again and staring up at Flash with this unreadable expression and fuck it, Flash is tired of thinking. 

He reaches down, undoes Parker’s belt. Feels Parker’s eyes on him but doesn’t look up, just slides down the zipper and pushes his hand inside. Just under the jeans, not under the shorts, and he rubs the heel of his palm over Parker’s cock through the cotton.

Parker’s not completely hard but he’s not soft either, and his fingers dig into the sheets in Flash’s peripheral vision. 

The angle’s all wrong, and Flash’s hands feel clumsy and stupid, too big and wide to be real. But he keeps rubbing, palming the length of Parker’s trapped cock, feeling it growing under the attention until Parker’s trying to hide the way he’s panting. It’s got to be uncomfortable, having the fabric dragged over him like that, dry and rough, but Flash remembers how it was the first time he had a hand there that wasn’t his own, how it made fireworks go off in his mind, so he totally gets it.

He doesn’t even realise he’s all-the-way hard too until he pulls his hand back and Parker makes this soft, quiet sound that makes Flash’s dick fucking _pulse_.

“Lift your hips,” he says, voice all gruff and jacked up, and Parker’s looking at him with those eyes again, like he still thinks there’s a punch line on the horizon, like he still thinks this is a big joke at his expense. 

But whatever he sees on Flash’s face makes him falter, swallow thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement, and Flash has to fight back the urge to lean forward and lick him there, taste Parker’s throat.

Instead he tugs at the belt loops of Parker’s jeans, and this time Parker doesn’t even hesitate, just arches his hips up without a word, legs brushing against the inside of Flash’s thighs. Flash pulls the denim down his thighs, then peels the shorts down too before Parker can drop his hips again. Wasn’t planning to, but suddenly finds he wants to _see_.

It’s not like he’s never seen another guy’s dick before. He’s spent enough time in the locker room at school that it was sort of inevitable, and then there’s the sheer amount of porn he’s watched.

But this is different. It’s real, it’s right there, and Parker’s _hard_ , wet at the tip, flushed so red it almost looks ridiculous against the rest of that pale skin. There’s a patch of dark hair, not too much, not too little, and he’s maybe not as thick as Flash but length-wise Flash honestly couldn’t say who’s longer.

He did that, he made Parker hard like that, and the thought kind of makes him dizzy.

Parker goes really still under him when Flash starts scrabbling at his own fly, and for a moment Flash feels defensive, angry, because he can feel how hurried his hands are, knows how enthusiastic he must look, and he’s embarrassed. Embarrassment is one of those emotions that makes him lash out, that makes him feel all churned up, bones too big for his skin. But it clicks that Parker’s holding his breath, that he’s watching the movement of Flash’s fingers like he couldn’t look away if he tried.

He’s waiting, _wanting_ , and Flash breathes through his nose, tries to keep everything in his head from rattling loose before he can get off. Shoving jeans and boxers down his thighs, and Parker’s mouth is a little open, his face more unguarded than Flash has ever seen. 

He’s staring at Flash’s cock, and, yeah, he knows it’s only fair, he stared at Parker’s after all, but it still makes him feel nervous and like he’s being judged. 

He leans forward, kicking his legs back slow and bracing his elbows either side of Parker’s head, more to hide himself from view than anything. No idea why, he’s let girls take their time studying him before, damn well _basked_ in it, but from Parker it’s too much, too intense, like those eyes see fucking _everything_.

Parker’s staring up at his face, and Flash meets his eyes, holds his gaze even though instinct tells him to shy away from it. Throat suddenly dry and eyelids scratchy as he slowly lowers his weight. 

Their knees brush, arms, and then their cocks bump together, soft nudge of skin against skin, and Parker’s stupidly long eyelashes flutter. Small intake of breath that Flash feels more than hears, like Parker’s trying to keep his reactions to himself, and that’s not on. 

Flash doesn’t know exactly what’s happening here, even if he’s the one instigating every shift and change, but Parker doesn’t get to hide from any of it.

The next roll of his hips is more deliberate, more _sure_ , and Parker’s gasp is more real, sound of it filling Flash’s head. Rocking his hips down slow as he gets his weight balanced, pelvis to pelvis, slinging one leg between Parker’s thighs. Keeping himself up on his elbows and his forearms like he’s planking, but letting his legs rest against the mattress because he’s not actually a superhero, couldn’t hold the pose without that help.

And it’s important, somewhere in his mind, that he be able to see Parker like this, watch his face as Flash starts to put more strength into it. Slide of their cocks against each other, and it’s not perfect but it’s more than enough. Sharing breath as he rocks and grunts and fucks Parker into the mattress, so close his vision’s starting to go fuzzy. But he can still see Parker’s eyes, soft and brown and unfocused, so that makes it okay.

It’s trickier than he’d have thought, trying to keep the rhythm and the aim right. His hips slide to the right a couple of times, cockhead nudging against the hollow of Parker’s hip, and it’s kind of weird to realise that Parker’s mattress is shitty, cheap and uneven, just like his own.

And Parker’s making these breathy noises, like he’s scared to be too loud, and Flash wants to kiss him, lick him, bite him, but that would mean not looking in his eyes. And it doesn’t matter how girly that sounds, because Flash’s brain definitely doesn’t have the reins anymore. Not with Parker’s hands hovering uselessly in the air for a moment before they settle over Flash’s back, twist into his t-shirt. Like he’s afraid Flash will tell him he can’t touch, and the thought makes Flash want to laugh or groan or fuck harder, he doesn’t know.

He’s not going to come from this, no matter how good it feels. Not any time soon, not when he can’t keep them moving together the way he wants. And apparently Parker gets that, maybe he’s a natural, or maybe he doesn’t give a shit and is only thinking about himself, although Flash has a feeling that’s pretty much _never_ the case with Parker. 

Either way, Parker’s hand slides along his waist, manages to push down between them, and Flash’s moan is shaky and loud when Parker’s fingers wrap around them both.

Shit yes, that makes it easier, gives Flash something to focus on, gives him somewhere to aim. Fucking into the tight circle of Parker’s long, narrow fingers, feeling the way Parker’s grip shifts and pulses till it’s _perfect_ , squeezing them together as Flash fucks himself against Parker’s cock. He never gets that wet, but Parker’s wet enough for the both of them, making the slide even sweeter, and Flash wants to look at Parker’s face but he can’t anymore.

Head dropping forward, foreheads resting against each other, Parker’s hair tickling at his cheek as Flash growls and bare his teeth.

And Parker, fuck, it’s like he’s made for this, made to _take_ this, made to make it better for Flash. Because when Flash fidgets, gets both his knees between Parker’s legs so he can thrust in earnest, Parker gets one leg bent up, inside of his thigh and calf against Flash’s hip, even though it’s got to be awkward with his jeans still pulled taut around his thighs. But with his foot braced against the bed, Parker can rock up as Flash rolls down, and that gets him the first real _groan_ out of Parker’s mouth, like he’s forgotten he’s trying to be quiet.

Flash would smirk if he remembered how to use the muscles in his face. 

Their foreheads slide against each other, both sweaty and flushed, and Flash presses his nose, his mouth anywhere he can reach. Nuzzling at Parker’s face like a needy animal and so beyond caring, because now Parker’s started it’s like he can’t shut up. All these desperate little noises, cursing and whining and moaning, sounds buzzing against Flash’s cheek when Parker’s lips brush against it.

There’s that familiar tightness building in Flash’s balls, and he’s thrusting more ragged now, ass flexing, Parker’s cock leaking all over them both. When Parker starts to move his wrist, stroking them tight at the same time Flash fucks and fucks, it’s too much, and Flash hears himself let out a _snarl_. Hips pistoning forward, weight pushing down so hard he’s surprised Parker can still breathe. Doesn’t even know if his eyes are still open, couldn’t see even if they were, and then Parker’s cock pulses and jumps against his, swelling in Parker’s grip as he comes, and Flash can feel every twitch, every spurt in the split second before he’s coming too.

Brain cells grinding together, white-hot sparks in his mind, whole body moving on autopilot as he paints Parker’s stomach, his t-shirt, feeling of another cock against his own making it more real, making him even more aware of how fucking _good_ it feels, and he floats on it, lets himself get delirious on it, on hormones and pleasure and Parker’s scent all around.

It’s only when he collapses against Parker that he realises how bad his arms are shaking, low burn in his back and shoulders and biceps the way he gets after a solid workout. Panting open-mouthed against Parker’s neck, feeling Parker’s breath ruffle his hair.

He feels loose and relaxed in that way he rarely gets to enjoy, even if it’s uncomfortable to lie like this, even if Parker’s hand is still sandwiched between them, every shared breath dragging the skin of their stomachs against Flash’s over-sensitised cock.

“Flash?” Parker says after a while, voice distant like he’s barely aware he’s talking.

Flash manages a noncommittal grunt, like he’s not exactly sure he should answer because he’s not exactly sure that’s who he is right now. And he’s going to have to deal with that feeling eventually, but it’s part of reality, and reality only exists outside Peter Parker’s bedroom.

But Parker doesn’t say anything else, just lays there in a thoughtful silence, breath slowly evening out. One hand still resting against Flash’s back, fingers absentmindedly drawing patterns along Flash’s spine that Flash doesn’t recognise, circles and lines. Another part of Parker’s mystery that Flash isn’t sure he’s ever going to get, or if he’s even supposed to, but somewhere along the line he apparently got caught up in the web of it all the same.


End file.
